In Flight
by Oboe-Wan
Summary: A retelling of events preceding and during the GW series, set in a medieval/fantasy alternaverse. Has a definite 6x9 focus and a serious tone.
1. Default Chapter

[With all due respect to the writers and creators of Gundam Wing, I've pulled their characters out of their time and place, and transplanted them.  It's kind of like being a kid and taking your Star Wars figures into the castle of blocks… or the other random toys into the Ewok village.  So delving into my alternate universe, Gundam Wing retains much of its plot, and its characters their souls.]

Lord Treize surveyed his newly trained recruits.  Their loyalty shone in their faces. The Empire would fall, and a new order would be achieved.  Injustice would perish, and the oppressed would live in freedom.  These soldiers, these innocents, were willing to die for his ideal, and although it pained him, their blood would pave the road to peace.

How beautiful.

He strode through their ranks, looking, in his burnished armor, like a god descending to mingle with his worshippers.  And so he was, in a way, the young swordsman named Zechs Merquise thought cynically of his leader.  It seemed as though the mud should not dare to splash up on his polished greaves, and yet, it did.  Not as though anyone noticed.  Except Zechs.

There was, without a doubt, something different about him.  He knew it all too well, and his comrades seemed to feel it as well.  It went beyond the physical differences that would be apparent to any casual observer.  To the other young men's short, close-cropped hair, Zechs' fell down his back in an even, platinum sheet.  Standard, military issue swords dwelt in new leather scabbards at their sides, but he wore an older blade in a worn sheath.  It was of a graceful design – almost too good for a common soldier.  He kept his cloak over it in such close quarters, to avoid questions he didn't want to answer.

The commander paused in front of him.  Royal blue eyes met Zechs' azure ones.  An unspoken question lay there.  Did he truly want this obscurity?

Yes.

That _was the idea, Zechs thought in mild irritation as the commander continued to walk._

"Today."

Zechs had to wonder if the man used a little magic to amplify his voice.  They all heard him, and yet he never shouted.

"Today, you will become the Empire's soldiers.  I can see the disgust in your faces.  You came to me to avoid this very thing.  Do you feel that I've betrayed you?"

The silence hung in the air, as thick as the mud they tried not to squelch beneath their boots as they stood, waiting…

"I will not betray you.  And you do not betray yourselves in this.  I promise you, the justice you yearn for will be granted.  You all know your instructions.  When the time comes, you _will know it has come.  All that is left is for you to be given your partner.  For each swordsman, there is an archer.  You have accepted your sworn duty to protect each other.  You are all to insure that your companion makes it to the day we reveal ourselves.  Even at the cost of your life.  Protect him as you would your own brother."  Lord Treize turned to the woman in a simple maroon dress at his side, who handed him the scroll.  He started down the ranks, paused at each young man, spoke a name, and one of the archers came from behind to stand beside his new "brother."  The companions had been carefully chosen, based on their strengths and weaknesses.  Many friends stood at each other's side… and many rivals as well._

"And for you, Zechs, my friend," Treize said quietly, causing the woman to raise an eyebrow, her expression making her otherwise pretty face severe.

"Please," Zechs interrupted, "with all due respect, Your Excellency, I feel I would work better alone."

The woman's expression of disapproval turned to scorn.

"You must not think much of the respect due to me, if you treat my wishes so," Treize said sadly.  His eyes, however, were sharp.  _I gave you the chance to stand apart, and you denied it.  It's too late now, he seemed to say._

"Forgive me," Zechs murmured, dropping his eyes.  _Spare me… he wanted very much to reply.  Oh well._

"Noin."

Zechs should've been expecting that, of course.  For the best swordsman, the best archer - it was only logical.  Just as he had stunned his instructors and superiors with his prowess with the blade, this boy had astounded everyone with his unsurpassed skill and consistent accuracy.

Still, Zechs felt sure the kid had lied about his age.  His deft hands that bore bowstring calluses were small, delicate, and his pale face was smooth, half of it concealed beneath glossy black hair.  Still, he was average height, although rather skinny.  He couldn't be _that young._

Zechs turned to his new companion.  The boy was notoriously silent, but seemed friendly enough in the tight grin he shot at his new brother.  He shouldered his full quiver, and followed the commander down the row with his eyes.  It didn't take much longer.  Soon the soldiers had been neatly divided, and they stood in little clumps on the churned mud.

"Go then," Treize told them.  "I will not keep you waiting long."


	2. 

Zechs strode quickly through the trees, his new shadow close behind.

And so he seemed, very much like a shadow, following quietly, usually unresponsive.  Zechs had never met someone quite this silent and withdrawn.  Except, he added to himself, maybe me.

But he wasn't naturally so.  He'd longed to join into the warm camaraderie the rest of the soldiers had felt as they trained.  He'd wanted to turn the acquaintances into friendships.  At eighteen, he didn't hesitate to think of himself as a man, but somewhere there was a child inside him that didn't want to be alone.

No one in his right mind could possibly _want to be alone._

All of this led him to believe that this Noin boy had a secret.  Just as he did.

"It will be good to fight, at last," he said, idly polishing the stone at the pommel of his sword.

The shadow stopped in his tracks.

"How can you say that?" Noin demanded in his quiet voice.

Zechs stopped as well, glancing back over his shoulder at him.  "I take it you don't want to fight?"

The boy's eyes narrowed.

"Why are you here, then?" Zechs asked impatiently.

"Because I believe in Lord Treize's ideals.  Because I feel peace is something worth fighting for," he explained, voice firm.

Zechs nodded in approval.  "Then why…"

"I'll fight, because I have to," he interrupted.  "But that doesn't mean I'll ever like it.  Or that it will _ever be a good thing," he concluded grimly._

Zechs felt his face go red.  Good Lord, when had he gotten so bloodthirsty?  His mind started turning, of it's own accord, to his father, but Zechs couldn't let himself think of that.  He couldn't bare the shame…

"I'm sorry," the dark-haired boy was saying, "I didn't mean to be judgmental.  I'm not trying to force my convictions on you."

"No," Zechs said, interrupting the apology.  "You're right."

"I can hear them," Noin said softly.

"So can I," Zechs answered.  "You'd think," he added, "that if you were planning to be a bandit, you'd learn to make less noise than a stampede of overfed dairy cows."

Noin laughed, and Zechs, unreasonably pleased, grinned.  The kid was a kindred spirit, perhaps.

"You'd _think that.  We can never really know.  That's why __they're the bandits, and we're just the unsuspecting travelers," he pointed out without a trace of sarcasm, casually adjusting his grip on his strung bow to a more businesslike position._

Zechs cracked his knuckles and shook his sword loose in its scabbard.  "When do you suppose they'll decide to show themselves?" he asked casually.

"Oh, I imagine we'll hear them crashing through the underbrush soon…" Noin quipped, smiling.

This seemed as appropriate a cue as any for the bandits to reveal themselves.

A solidly built man with dark hair stood in their path, a curved blade, like a scimitar in his hand.  "State your business," he demanded harshly.

"Friendly, huh?" Noin muttered, as he quickly drew an arrow and fitted it onto the string in one fluid movement.  Almost unconsciously they stood back to back, giving themselves a 360-degree range of vision.

"My friend and I are on our way to join up with the Imperial army," Zechs told the man on the road.

"You _scum," he spat.  Seconds later, he was joined by the rest of his group._

It took Zechs a moment to realize that the weapon he carried was _not a scimitar._

It was a sickle.

Another man carried a pitchfork, and yet another was armed with a hoe.

"They're villagers," Noin was muttering numbly.  "Simple villagers."

"Who would like nothing better that to spill our blood with those farming implements," Zechs pointed out.

"Zechs," the boy said, using his name for the first time, "you can't expect us to fight these people.  They've never hurt anyone."

"That's gonna change if we hang around here," he countered.

"Damn.  If only we could tell them, without…"

"Without ruining their only chance for deliverance from their oppression?" he finished for him.  "Besides, you think they'd believe us?"  Telling random villagers that the Empire's most distinguished officer was training troops for an overthrow would _not be a good idea._

"Quit whispering!" the man with the hoe bellowed.  The villagers seemed at a loss with what to do with them.  They seemed hesitant to make the first move, as though they were waiting for something…

The boy in the tree tried to steady his trembling hand.  He could hit squirrels, so this would _not be a problem.  Aiming along his arrow, he tried to decide which one to hit.  The tall one made a better target.  He was holding a sword, and looked pretty dangerous.  Besides, he couldn't help feeling a certain sense of kinship to the dark-haired one with the bow.  So, the big blonde one it was…_

His aim was good, but the dark-haired archer looked up at the familiar twang of a bowstring.  He gave his companion a shove, and stepped forward.

The boy in the tree heard the sound of the steel-tipped arrow piercing leaf-mail, a low cry, and saw the archer fall.  The swordsman turned, staring at horror at his comrade, and the puddle of blood forming around him.

The boy in the tree could only stare too.  It wasn't like shooting squirrels.  He shakily half-climbed, half-fell from his branch, left his bow on the ground beside him, and ran.

_Protect him as you would your own brother.  Even at the cost of your life._

Zechs stared numbly at where the slight boy lay, immobile, on the muddy road.  The arrow protruding from his shoulder had been meant for Zechs.  And he knew that.

He'd failed, he thought grimly, knocking the sickle from the hand of the villager with one deft turn of his blade.  He'd failed Lord Treize.  The other two came at him clumsily, and he aimed blows to shatter the wooden shafts of their makeshift weapons.  Now unarmed, the three fled back into the trees.

And he'd failed this poor kid who'd put his life on the line for him.

Zechs thrust his sword back into its sheath, and knelt beside the dark-haired boy on the road.

"Hey, Noin, hang on…  Can you stand?"  It wasn't a mortal wound, but it was a nasty one.

"I don't…I don't know.  I can try," he said in a voice thick with pain.

Zechs helped the boy to his feet, and he promptly passed out.

Well, the middle of the road was no place to tend his wounds, at any rate.  Zechs lifted his companion – the boy wasn't any heavier than he looked – and headed into the woods, looking for a clearing to build a fire and set up a temporary camp.

"Put me down," Noin's voice said faintly.  He didn't have the strength to struggle.  "I can walk."

"No, you can't," Zechs told him.  "Unless you want to pass out again."

In the shade of a huge pine tree lay a small clearing, and even the forest floor was free of underbrush and carpeted with dead needles.  Zechs lowered his companion to the ground.  First things first.

Villagers wouldn't have barbed arrows, so it would be safe to remove the shaft.  Luckily, the boy was unconscious again.  Zechs gently eased the arrow from the wound, and hurried to unfasten the boy's leaf-mail armor and stop the bleeding.  He unlaced Noin's linen shirt, and, for a split second, forgot his haste.

She most certainly did have a secret.


	3. 

Noin awoke slowly, stimuli hitting her senses one by one.

Her shoulder hurt.

She was too warm, too close to the fire.

The young man sitting on the other side of the fire had his ice-blue eyes fixed on her intently.

She tried to push herself into a sitting position.

That hurt too.

"No, don't try to get up," he said, standing up and moving a little closer.

Noin looked at her left shoulder, afraid of what she might see.  But it was neatly bandaged with strips of clean white cloth.

"I guess you know then," she said softly.

"Good guess."

She was pretty flat-chested to begin with, or else she'd never have been able to pull this off at all.  But the long strips of cloth she'd used to flatten herself further were a dead giveaway.

She sat up again, holding the cloak thrown on top of her tightly to herself.  Zechs' cloak.  It had to be, since she was laying on her own.

"Please relax.  You might open the wound again."

"I figured it would happen sooner or later," she said quietly.

"Opening the wound?" he asked blankly.

She laughed, then stopped.  That hurt too.

She'd been afraid of this.  Afraid of who would find out.  Afraid of who he would tell.  Afraid of what he would ask in exchange for _not telling._

"I…I'm going to take enough provisions for a day, and … go…" she said shakily.

_Where? she asked herself._

_Away, she answered._

"I can't let you do that.  You're injured," he said, looking compassionate.  "And… you saved my life," he added quietly.

"And you saved mine.  Neither of us owes the other anything."

"Noin," he said, sitting down beside her.  "I swore to protect you.  Just as you protected me."

"Look…I appreciate the sentiment, but…"

"You don't trust me," he finished, smiling.

"That about sums it up," she responded, with a nod.

"In what respect?  You don't think that I won't turn you in?"

"Okay, we'll go with that one…" Noin said dubiously.

"I give you my word," he told her solemnly.

She snorted.

"…as a member of the House of Peacecraft," he continued, drawing his sword, "and a prince of the Sanq Kingdom."

Noin, her dark cobalt eyes wide, was suddenly aware of the bright gem at the pommel of his fine sword, and the aristocratic lines of his beautiful face.

"Your secret is safe with me," he told her earnestly.

"And yours with me."

Noin and Zechs stood awkwardly, not looking at eachother, in the small inn room.

"I asked for two," he said apologetically, "but the innkeeper said he couldn't spare the room."

"Well, I'm going to sleep in the stable," Noin said decisively, wincing as she lifted her bag.

"No, you aren't…" he started to protest.

"Yes, I _am," she countered, her eyes flinty.  Prince or not, if he __thought…_

He blushed. "But you're injured, so you really ought to stay inside. I'll sleep in the stable."

So he was going to be like _that about it.  "No, it was __my idea, so __I'm going to sleep in the stable."_

"Don't be stupid," he told her, throwing the key to the room at her as he closed the door behind him.

Making himself as comfortable as was physically possible on a few bales of hay, Zechs threw his cloak over himself, and stared idly at the rafters.  And just where had his brain been sleeping the past few hours?  Or, the past few months?

He'd even taken note of all the evidence – her smaller hands, her smooth face, her unnatural silence…  He _should've figured it out.  What had kept him from even considering the possibility?  He was ashamed to admit it, but it was her competence.  She was the best archer he'd trained with – probably the best archer in the kingdom.  And she was…. well…she was a she.  He'd flattered himself to think he didn't look down on women, and here was clear evidence that he'd done so.  He promised himself it wouldn't happen again.  Not that Noin would let it…_

He couldn't help grinning at the thought.  He liked the girl – her forthright manner, the sense of humor.  And she had saved his life. Not just warned him, not just pushed him out of harm's way – she'd taken the arrow herself.  And no matter what she said about the debt being cleared, he would always be grateful.  As dismal as life seemed sometimes, he wasn't ready for his to be over.  The concept of death was more than he wanted to consider.  And yet, as a soldier, he ought to be thinking about it.

"I just can't die yet," he said softly.  Not while the Imperial Governor held his tyrranical rule over the Sanq Kingdom.  Not while his family was unavenged.

Why was he kidding himself?  It was he, and he alone who wanted vengence.  His parents would've wanted no part in it.  He put his hand on his sword hilt.  It was a beautiful weapon, and an old one, from generations ago, before the Peacecrafts earned their name.

Revenge aside, he couldn't allow the Cinq Kingdom, _his kingdom, to remain enslaved by the Empire.  So until he'd taken care of that, dying was out of the question.  Good thing Noin had the same idea. _

Noin stretched out on the narrow cot in the inn room.  It beat sleeping in the mud by a wide margin, anyway.  Still, she wasn't entirely comfortable – it'd been a long time since she had been.

She would _never complain about corsets again.  And aside from that, her shoulder still hurt, too.  _

It wasn't exactly as if she'd been expecting it to stop.  Maybe just hurt a little less?  Was that so much to ask?

Apparently so.  She knew she should change the dressing, but there was no way she could do it one handed.  It was going to have to wait 'till morning, when Zechs could help her – which was more than a little embarrassing.

Noin knew she was lucky that Zechs was her "brother."  He was so unwaveringly honorable. And beyond that, she couldn't help feeling that he was really a kind person. It might be foolish, but she felt she could trust him.  And it had been a long time since she'd trusted anyone.  Someone had been looking out for her when Zechs was made her partner.  But, for some reason, Lord Treize didn't seem like the guardian angel type, and she _seriously doubted his Excellency knew that there was a woman in his army.  And if she could help it, he never would.  It was comforting to know that she would have Zechs' help in that._

None of which explained why the boy had to be so accursedly good-looking.


	4. 

"Lady Relena!" 

The little maiden who went by that name didn't look up.  The voices were still pretty far off, and the grasses of the meadow were high around her.  She didn't want to go in just yet.

The sky was so beautiful – such a lovely pale shade of blue.  The color reminded her of something, and she wanted to keep quite still and quiet until she remembered what.

"Lady Relena!  This _instant child!  Your father is leaving!  Lady __Relena!"_

Relena sat up abruptly and scrambled to her feet.  "Papa!" she called, waving enthusiastically as she gathered a handful of her heavy brocade skirt and ran through the tall grass in the path she'd made earlier.

The tall man smiled affectionately, catching the girl in a hug as she came hurtling at him.  He straightened her crown of light brown braids and kissed her forehead.

"Papa, _must you go?" she asked, pouting prettily._

"Relena," he pleaded, "you know very well that I must."

"Milady, please don't bother your father like that," her lady-in-waiting hissed quietly.

"Relena could never be a bother," he said, smiling at her.  "I'll see you tomorrow."

He mounted the brown horse that stood beside him, and urged the steed into a canter.  Relena watched him disappear through the trees.

"He indulges you far too much," the lady-in-waiting scolded.  "Lady Relena, I don't know how you'll ever make a proper young lady.  Fourteen already, (Relena didn't bother to point out that already was quite some time – she'd be fifteen soon…) and _still going on like a spoiled child."_

Relena, far too accustomed to such admonitions, turned her attention back to the sky.  Was it the color of someone's eyes?  Not her parents – her mother's were a darker blue than her own, and her father's were brown.  She didn't know anyone with eyes that color.  Did she?

Zechs squinted his pale blue eyes has he gingerly pulled the bandages, stiff with dried blood, away from Noin's wound.  He felt her wince.

            "Sorry… Did I hurt you?" he said, glancing up at her.

            "No, it just hurt, that's all," she replied shortly, sitting up a little straighter, determined not to show such weakness again.

            "I guess it would," he muttered, cleaning the injury and binding the witch hazel poultice to it.  His hands were quick and gentle as he firmly wrapped the bandages, and warm where they brushed her skin.

            "Do you have a lot of experience with this sort of thing?" she asked, clenching her hands into fists and trying to distract herself from the pain.

            "No, I'm afraid not.  Does it show?" he asked with a lopsided, apologetic smile.

            "No, I'd actually assumed you had," she responded, shrugging, flinching, and then making a mental note not to shrug.

            "Well, despite my lack of experience, I'm going to make an observation.  You look awfully pale.  Aside from this, are you all right?"

            "I feel weak and tired and miserable, but I think that has something to do with the injury," she replied, making a conscious effort not to shrug.

            "Should it?" he wanted to know, concerned.

            "How should I know?" Noin answered.

            _Try harder, boy.  I thought you were capable of more than this__.  Perhaps I should be looking for a new apprentice…_

            Growling under his breath, the boy knitted his brows together, strands of chestnut hair falling in front of his indigo eyes.  Sweat was beaded on his brow, and each of his muscles was tense, even though he stood, unmoving.

            _Better, better, the voice cackled happily, __although you shouldn't have responded to my taunts.  Weak-minded fool._

            Too tired to be angry, the boy sighed.  The first thing he was going to do when he learned a little more magic was find a way to keep that crazy old man out of his head.

            _I heard that._

            "Yeah, well, good for you," he snapped in annoyance.

            "You're going to ruin your concentration, Duo," the old sorcerer warned.

            "We'll see about that," Duo muttered.

            Abruptly, the glow around his hands disappeared.

            "Behave yourself, boy," the old man chided.

            "This is crap! [Duo:  Hey!  I didn't say crap!  Me:  Hush, you…] It was going to _work!" he moaned._

            "Too bad," the sorcerer sneered.  "Start over."

            Scowling, Duo tried to clear the remnants of the old spell from his mind.

            "You should be more grateful to me, boy.  If I hadn't taken you on, you'd be Brother Linus or some such nonsense by now."

            He'd thought about joining the monastery – all of the boys in the Abbey orphanage had.  The monks had pulled them from the streets of the city, fed them, clothed them, and taught them to read and write.  He was grateful to the monks, and knew that their life was nothing to sneer at.  He also knew that it wasn't what he wanted – but he certainly wasn't going to give the sorcerer the satisfaction of hearing him admit that.

            "Yeah. Thanks a bundle," he remarked sarcastically.     

            "You really are a little ingrate," the sorcerer stated, amused.

            Duo didn't bother to respond to that.

            "Fine.  You're done for the day.  Hey-!  I didn't say you could leave!  Duo!  Get back here!"

            Ignoring the old man, Duo flipped up the hood of his cowl, knocking his yard-long braid over his shoulder.  The raining falling in a fine mist, he trudged out of the crumbling ruin of a castle in which the sorcerer made his hermitage.

            Duo made a strange sort of figure, still in his secondhand habit and sandals from the Abbey.  The weather was turning cold, and he was going to need boots – the sorcerer didn't much care whether or not his apprentice was in possession of all of his toes.


	5. 

Sighing in exasperation as her twisted ropes of honey-gold hair fell over her shoulders _again, the healer's apprentice reached up and tied them together._

"Interesting hairstyle, Sally.  Functional, I'm sure, but interesting."

Smiling, but not bothering to respond to her master's teasing, Sally continued grinding her herbs.  Her hand slipped from the pestle as she looked up, startled, when the door was flung open to the rain.  A very wet soldier stood in the doorway.

"I need a physician," he said shortly, his dripping clothes making a puddle on the scrubbed floor of the cottage.

Sally's master, a tall, kind-faced man, put down the bandages he'd been rolling.  "Then how may I be of service?" he responded politely.

"My captain, and many of my fellow infantry men are injured.  We were marching to rejoin our regiment, and there was a crossbowman in the woods.  A rebel.  Before we knew what was happening…"

"Just a moment, my friend.  I'll gather what I need and follow," the healer said quickly.

"I'll get the rest of the bandages, sir," Sally said, standing.

"Thank you," he replied, gathering herbs and his instruments.  Sally shouldered the sack of white strips of cloth and reached for her cloak, where it hung on the peg by the door.  Her master placed his hand over hers.

"No."

Sally snatched her cloak indignantly.  "I know I can help you, and I'm coming."

"You are to stay here," he told her firmly.

"You're not even being reasonable.  I know what I'm doing.  I can tend wounds, and I _want to help!"_

"Firstly Sally, there is no reason to put two people in danger when one will suffice.  Secondly, should anyone else need a physician, you need to be here to help them.  Suppose Mark's wife goes into labor while I'm gone?  I'm trusting you to hold down the fort.  And lastly, you've never seen a battlefield, and I hope you never do.  I should be back in a few hours."  He took the bag of bandages, and went into the rain without another word.

Sally stood moment longer, her cloak still in a white-knuckled grip.  She wasn't sure whether to be furious, or extremely grateful.

Well, there was no point just standing there.  She did, after all, have work to do.  Hanging her cloak back on its peg, she turned back to the mortar and pestle on the table.

And dropped it again when an awkward knock sounded at the door.  She stood to open it, and paused with her hand on the latch.  It would be Mark, perhaps with one of the older children with him, both of them looking anxious and a little worried.  There was no reason for her to be apprehensive.  She opened the door, but Goodman Mark did not stand in the threshold.

A tall, beautiful young man with his long, pale hair plastered to his head by the rain, was carrying another tall, slender form, shrouded in two cloaks.

"I'm told this is the physician's house," he said, sounding tired, and a little dazed.

"It is, but I'm afraid he's not in.  I'm his apprentice, and you're welcome to come in.  If I can help, I will, and if not, I can make your friend comfortable until he returns."  Sally stepped aside to allow him to enter.

"Thank you," he replied, coming in, still carefully cradling his burden.  "My friend has an arrow-wound and a fever."  Sally hurriedly cleared her herbs from the table, and beckoned for him to place his companion there.  He did so gently, then stepped back, running a hand through his sodden hair.  Sally pulled the wet cloaks off of the prone figure, who was tossing a little restlessly.  The dark-haired boy – no…  Upon closer inspection, Sally came to the conclusion that this person was no more of a boy than she was.

"Where is the wound?" she asked in her best businesslike fashion, which was very businesslike indeed.

"Left shoulder," the young man responded quickly.  Investigating, Sally soon discovered the very tidy dressing.

"Being that this sort of thing is next to impossible to do one-handed, I'm assuming you know that…" she began uncomfortably.

"Yes," he answered.  "I'm aware that she's a woman."

Sally raised her eyebrows.  "Care to explain?  Just to pass the time?"

He didn't really look as though he cared to, but did just the same.  "We trained together, but I didn't find out until she was injured."

Sally looked up, unable to hide her surprise.  "And you stayed with her?  Most soldiers would've just dumped her in the nearest village."  _Or worse, she added silently._

"She saved my life," he said numbly.   "And she's my friend."

"Well, you did a good job with the injury.  There's no infection.  But she probably lost a lot of blood, and weakened like that, was very susceptible to whatever she picked up.  It's hitting her hard.  Are you experiencing any symptoms?"

He made a face.  "I'm wet.  That's about all I can tell you at the moment."

Sally laid a practiced hand on his damp forehead. 

"You're fine, for now.  But if you start feeling ill, _say something for pity's sake."_

"I will."

"There are towels in the cupboard over there.  If you have dry clothes, you can change in the loft.  I'm going to get your friend out of her wet things."  Sally was sure the girl would fit easily into some of her clothes.  "By the way," she said, looking up, "do you mind telling me your name?"

He paused.  "Zechs Merquise," he replied.  "And my friend is Noin."

"Does she have a first name?"

"Most people do."

"You just don't know it, right?"

"Right," Zechs said, a little sheepishly, continuing up the ladder into the loft.

Waking up while someone is taking your clothes off is bound to be disturbing.

"Relax Noin, I'm a healer."  _Relax, I'm an apprentice healer never quite had the same effect, Sally mused.  "I have dry clothes for you.  Can I help you change?"_

"How do you know my name?  Where am I?  Where's Zechs?" she stuttered, blinking her too-bright eyes rapidly.

"Your friend Zechs told me your name.  You're in the physician Matthew Po's house, and I'm his apprentice Sally.  Zechs is in the loft changing into dry clothes.  You should really do the same."

Noin layed back down, exhausted by the effort required to sit up and talk.  She closed her eyes a moment, then opened them again.

"I'll try," she said, weak voice firm.

Sally helped her into the loose homespun dress and wrapped a quilt around her shoulders.

"Are you hungry?" Sally asked politely, knowing what the answer would be.

"No thank you," Noin answered, trying not to look ill at the thought.

"Master Merquise?" she asked Zechs as he climbed down the ladder.

"A bit," he admitted, "but I can go back to the inn to eat, I suppose."

"Now that you're dry, you're actually considering going back out into that mess?" Sally asked incredulously.

Noin, huddling in her quilt, looked up, too proud to ask him to stay with her, but unable to keep herself from communicating that request with her eyes all the same.

"Wait… _back to the inn?" Sally asked suddenly.  "You were there before?  Why didn't you leave her there and come find me?  I would've come with you, there was no need to drag her through the pouring rain!"_

Zechs' pale eyes hardened.  "The innkeeper wouldn't even let us into the common room.  We're Imperial soldiers after all.   And carrying heaven knows what disease, as if that wasn't bad enough.  I can see his point, I suppose, but I'd rather not give him my money, just the same."

Sally was livid.  "What?!?  That _bastard!  How can someone leave a sick person out in the rain?  It's just common human decency!  What the hell is wrong with him?" she fumed._

Zechs' lips twitched into a smile.  "My thoughts, just a little more colorfully put…" he commented.


	6. 

Obey me.  Faster… 

The wind tore at the boy's short dark hair, and the rain stung his face.  The creature on whose back he perched reluctantly forced another flap from its huge, batlike wings.

It was a dragon – a powerful creature with a lithe, muscular body thrice the size of a warhorse, armored with shining brown-bronze scales.  This fearsome beast with ivory fangs and fire dwelling in its breast, was terrified.  It wasn't the deafening crashes of thunder, or the lightning that clawed the heavens that it feared.  It was the boy who held it in his power – the slender boy who would not even fill its belly, with his soft skin its long black claws could pierce so easily and his sweet, warm, crimson blood…

_Enough of **that.  The boy shot the thought irritably into the dragon's simple mind with needle-like sharpness.**_

The creature winced and obediently abandoned any thoughts of what a tasty little morsel its rider would make.

Duo sprinted the last few yards to the cave, soaked from braid to sandals.  It _had been pretty stupid to go out when it'd started raining, but who could've know that it would turn into a downpour?  Deeper in the cave, __something stirred._

"Hey buddy," Duo greeted happily.  With a flicker of magic, he lit a handful of torches on the walls of the cave.

The enormous dragon that was curled around the rocks, its onyx scales glittering in the torchlight, let an amused wisp smoke curl from his nostril.  It sent Duo a mental image of himself, dripping on the cave floor. [1]  He laughed.

"Yeah, pretty pathetic, huh?  Unfortunately, I don't know a spell for dodging raindrops."

            Duo's mind was filled with a picture of fire, and then of steam.

            "Um… no thanks," he said quickly.  "Remember, I don't have scales."

            The dragon lowered its head apologetically.

            "It was a good idea, though," he assured his dragon.  "I wonder…"

            Most dragon riders would have the need of invulnerability to fire at some point in their (usually very short) lives.  It was a difficult spell, and Duo wasn't entirely sure he had it mastered.[2]  Still, it couldn't hurt to try.  

            Well, yes, it could hurt.  But not if he was careful.

            Clearing his mind and laying out the spell, Duo lingered on each step.  He wasn't usually this painstaking when he went about doing magic, but this was a special case.  If there was the slightest snag in the weave of the spell, he'd be toast.  And not the nice golden kind you could smear lots of butter on.  Charred toast.

            That was everything.  He supposed he ought to test it.  Shrugging, Duo approached the torch, and reached up to it.  He stopped with his hand mere inches away from the flame.  

"Maybe I should test it on something that won't hurt…" he mused aloud.  Gingerly, he edged the dripping end of his braid towards the torch.  It was just sitting there, enveloped in fire, and _not giving off noxious clouds of the scent of buring hair.  That was a good sign.  He dropped his now dry braid and stuck his hand in the torch.  "Nice," he muttered, grinning, and quite pleased with himself.  "Okay, buddy," he said, turning back to the dragon.  "Let's give it a try."_

"You're finished, I see," the old man stated rhetorically to the very wet boy who jumped from the bronze dragon's back.

"The creature is inadequate," the boy said shortly, shaking some of the rain from his short hair.

"So I see," the old man replied dryly, as the panting dragon slunk towards its cave.  "I suppose you're waiting for your next challenge?"

"Always," the boy smirked.

"You're not ready," the old man told him.

"What makes you say that?" the lad answered skeptically.

"You've dominated every dragon so far.  You rely completely on your own strength.  What happens when the dragon is stronger than you?" he wanted to know.

"That won't happen," the boy replied.

The old man shook his head wearily.  "I suppose you'll have to learn for yourself, Heero."  Leaning heavily on his knobby cane, the old man started out towards the network of caves.  "Well, follow," he said impatiently.  Heero obeyed, wringing some of the water from his dark green linen shirt.

Through the labyrinthine twists of the caves, Heero walked after his master, leaving a trail of wet foot-prints.  Farther than he'd gone before, the old man stopped, and with a brief flicker of magic, lit a few torches on the wall of the cavern.

Heero, impressed for the first time in a long while, stared at the magnificent sleeping dragon.  Its hide seemed to shift colors none too subtly each time he looked at it – first blue, perhaps red, now yellow….  He approached it, boldly, and it twitched in its slumber.

"Be cautious, Heero," the sorcerer warned composedly.

The boy idly wondered if the old man would intercede if the dragon overpowered him.  He doubted it.

Why bother with caution?  If he was strong enough, he'd conquer it.  If he wasn't, it would conquer him, and he'd be, well… lunch.

So he walked forward and gave the enormous creature a mental nudge.

The dragon's emerald eyes fluttered open, and settled inquisitively on the slender lad before him.

_Dinner?  It sent the thought sleepily in the sorcerer's general direction, not caring whether or not Heero percieved it.  Letting the old man interfere now would show weakness, which was something Heero needed to prevent, if he intended to live._

_Master, Heero corrected, exposing an impressive, but not yet full force of his magic to the creature.  Let it know how powerful he was… or think it knew, anyway._

_Better dinner… the dragon thought lazily, yawning._

_Nice boots, Heero retorted, forming a mental image of boots made out of the dragon's shimmering, iridescent hide – although he'd never wear anything that flashy._

  


* * *

[1] I'm such a little plagiarist.  This is whole communication thing is SO _Jeremy Thatcher, Dragon Hatcher, a beautiful book by Bruce Coville.  So read it.  There, I advertised, so I feel a little better now._

[2] This spell does not involve powdered hen's teeth and feverfew.  Sorry Cimorene.  (And read Patricia Wrede's _Enchanted Forest Chronicles while you're at it, even though I didn't steal anything from them.  Yet.)_


	7. 

Cold, wet, and miserable, Matthew Po trudged back through the mud to his cottage.  He opened the door, his lantern swinging in his left hand.

Sally was seated at the table, still grinding her herbs.  She looked up and smiled.  "Uncle Matthew, I'm so glad you're back," she said, putting down her pestle and sounding relieved.

"You should've had the door bolted," he said wearily.

"Sorry, but…"

A tall young man who had been seated by the fire stood.

"…we have a guest," Sally concluded lamely.

"What can I do for you, lad?" the healer asked politely, not showing how tired he was, or how much he was hoping that why ever this apparently healthy young man was in his house had nothing to do with Sally…

Instead of replying, the boy knelt before the quilt-cocooned form curled up near the hearth.

Matthew wasn't certain what'd tipped him off that it was a woman.  Probably the soft way the young man spoke to wake her, and how gently he touched her face with his fingertips.  As he helped her up, Matthew half-expected her to be spectacularly pregnant or something.

No, the girl was slender, pale, and, from the way she was carrying her shoulder, very injured.

            "Sir, my friend is injured and ill," the young man said politely.

            Friend…  Right.

            "So I see.  What's your name, Miss?" he continued, taking her arm that Zechs wasn't holding.

            Zechs watched the healer speak quietly to Noin, and, relieved, sat back down by the hearth.  Sally walked over and seated herself beside him.

            "You don't by any chance know how I'm going to tell my uncle that your friend is one of his Imperial Majesty's soldiers, do you?" she asked, not making eye contact.

            "She may take care of that herself," he contributed.

            Sally sighed.

            "Does your uncle oppose the imperial government?" Zechs asked.

            "Like I'd tell _you that, even if he did," Sally laughed._

            "I didn't mean…"

            "Uncle Matthew is a healer.  He opposes anyone who starts wars, and treats anyone who needs his help.  He's a good man.  It's not so much the issue of you being imperial soldiers, so much as it is…"

            "… that she's a woman."

            Sally nodded.  "It would… be safer for her if she…" she trailed off.  "What she's doing is very dangerous, and…  if nothing else, she could stay here…"

            "I'm sure she would appreciate the gesture, but this is Noin's decision.  If it's because of her injury, she'll be reasonable.  But I know what she believes in…"

            "This isn't about getting hurt in battle.  I'm sure you realize what could happen if the army found out…"  Sally prompted, looking at her hands.

            "As I said, it _is her decision.  But, should she choose to stand by what she believes in, I'll do everything in my power to protect her."_

            "And if your 'power' isn't enough?" Sally demanded.

"Noin is quite good at taking care of herself."  _And of me, he added silently._

"You keep talking about 'what she believes in,' but you're joining the Imperial army.  She believes in oppressing peasants?!"  Sally demanded.

Damn.

"You…aren't really Imperial soldiers, are you?"

Damn, damn, damn.

Sally smiled.  "We heard rumors, but…"

"No, you didn't," Zechs interrupted quickly.  "You didn't hear anything, you don't know anything."

"Of course not," Sally beamed.

The healer approached, and Zechs reached out to shake his hand.

"Thank you very much, sir…"

"Your 'friend' is going to be fine this time," Matthew Po interrupted, not taking his hand.  "She's worried about her aim," he said tightly.

"Noin is an excellent archer."

"Well, I'm sure she still will be."  He shot a quick glance at Sally.  "Could you heat up some broth for Miss Noin, please, Sally?"

Sally looked back and forth between Zechs and her uncle.  "Sure," she said dubiously, walking out of earshot.

"I really appreciate what you've done…" Zechs began again.

"Look," the healer said curtly.  "If you love that woman, take her home."

Zechs turned red.  "I… I beg your pardon?"

"Well I don't pardon you!  Don't you realize how selfish you're being, putting her in danger like that?" he continued heatedly.

"I'm afraid you misunderstand my position, sir," Zechs said stiffly.

The healer blinked.  "You're… not running away together?"

"No."

"Well what the hell is going on then?" he demanded heatedly.

Zechs coughed uncomfortably.  "She saved my life, and I took an oath to protect her."

"From what?  Her self-destructive cross-dressing tendencies?"

"Sir, I believe she's in earshot…" Zechs said delicately.

The physician turned red as Noin pulled her arm from Sally's grasp and approached, her face pale and her eyes a little glassy.

"Sir…haven't you ever believed in something?  Haven't you ever just wanted to _do_ something, and known - _known_ that you couldn't stand just watching and standing by silently anymore?"

The physician looked from one serious face to another, and sighed.

"Yes…"


	8. 

The little blonde lad lay with his head against the golden dragon's flank.  It nudged him a little.

"I'm awake," he told it softly.

It thought of him, smiling and laughing and climbing trees.

"I can't," he choked.  "I just can't."  Tears ran from his blue-turquoise eyes onto the burnished flank of the dragon.

The dragon eagerly pictured them soaring above the clouds.  It loved to fly, and so did Master Quatre, usually…

"No.  I don't want to.  I just want…"  The tears continued to fall down his face, and he buried his face in his hands.  He couldn't get the image out of his head – the archer on the road, bleeding in the dirt, with _his_ arrow protruding so unnaturally and stiffly…  It made him _sick – but it wasn't just that.  He didn't want his dragon to know, and if he kept __thinking about it, Sandrock couldn't help but find out._

The golden dragon tentatively sent an image of Quatre looking disapprovingly at him.  It was as close as the creature could come to "Are you angry with me?"

Quatre shook his head silently.  How could he _not think about it?  He might've taken a life, he couldn't just __not think about it!!!_

The golden dragon gently nuzzled its master, trying comfort him.

"Hey, take it easy," Zechs admonished, putting his hand on Noin's shoulder as she drew her bow taut.

She rolled her eyes at him as the new recruits conscientiously lowered their bows from their awkward positions.  "Watch your form," she instructed them, "and I want to see those targets full of shafts when I'm back."  She lowered the bow, and beckoned Zechs aside slightly.

"What do you need?  I don't think the new colonel came all the way down here just to make sure the archery instructor's injury wasn't being over-exercised…"  One of the hardest things about keeping up her "disguise" had to be not using feminine pronouns when speaking of herself.  And hoping no one would notice her face flushing and her heart racing when the commanding officer was in close physical proximity… like _now…_

"Don't push yourself.  Does it still hurt?" he asked, taking a hold of her elbow and gently touching her shoulder.

"Zechs, it's been weeks, I'm fine.  Stop that…" she added belatedly.

"Noin, look…" he began, dropping his voice as they walked behind one of the tents, "I need you to promise me you'll be careful and take care of yourself."

"You think I don't do that now?" she asked dryly, raising her eyebrows.

He frowned a little.  "It's not that.  It's just that… well, I try to look out for you too," he began.

"And I need looking after?" she inquired curtly.

"…and I'm not going to be able to for a while," he continued, ignoring her.

Noin blinked.  "What?"

"Lord Treize has plans for me," he explained, shrugging.  "So I'll be away for a while.  But… just promise me that I'll find you here and well when I come back, all right?"

"All right."  Noin gave him a lopsided smile, touched beyond what she would consciously admit by his concern.

"I mean, I _do owe you my life…"_

So that's how it was.

"I'll be fine," she said shortly.

"Noin…" Zechs protested, wanting her to be solemn about this.

"You needn't feel obliged to 'take care' of me.  Your debt was long repaid, so consider yourself rid of me."  She had an inkling that she was being hurtful, but she couldn't help saying it.

"That isn't what I meant…"

"Well, it's certainly what you said," she retorted, turning to go back to her students.

"Noin…please…" he said, taking her elbow to hold her there.

"Please what?" she demanded.

"It's not about debts or feeling that I'm obliged to take care of you.  It's that…  I'll worry about you.  Promise you'll be okay?"

He caught her eyes, and held them, pinning her soul to the ground in front of him with his penetrating sapphire gaze.  Did he _know what his eyes did to her?  Did he __realize that when she looked too deep, she felt as though she could drown in their sadness and pain, and all she wanted to do was comfort him…  _

If he did, he certainly made use of it…

"I promise."

"I suppose you heard what happen to one of 'our' fortresses?" Lord Treize addressed the young swordsman seriously, as he took a seat at the oaken desk set up in his tent.

"The fire?  Yes, we received news of the situation…" Zechs replied, nodding curly.

"It wasn't a fire, exactly," Lord Treize informed him.

"Beg pardon?"

"Well, there was certainly a great deal of fire involved, but there is a little more to it than that," Treize informed him, as the woman – ever in the commander's presence, it seemed – came and stood behind his chair, her chestnut hair still in its tight crown of braids.

Zechs shifted his weight a little as he waited for the man to continue.  What was he getting at?

"The Imperial fortress was attacked," he stated dryly.

"The people rose up?" Zechs inquired sharply.

"A boy on a dragon set the place aflame."

Zechs blinked.

He'd seen dragons, of course.   The ones the military was trying to tame as mounts were thick-witted creatures that couldn't be trusted not to turn on their "riders."  The concept was sound, however.  No one on foot, or on a horse, would stand much a chance against even a small dragon.  It was controlling them, however, that presented most of the problem.

"If you'll forgive me, sir, that seems a little…far-fetched," Zechs stated respectfully.

Treize turned his gaze on the younger man, and Zechs returned it, undaunted by the commander's presence.

"It seems… someone has found, or conjured some magnificent new species of dragon.  Even legions of the lizards we might command would be no match for these creatures.  There is a threat, and we do not know the source."

"The nobles who oppose the Empire?" Zechs suggested.  _Much like my own family…_

"I think not.  This move is too bold, too reckless for those who are cautious and comfortable.  My only thought, is that there are those among the people, those capable of some great magic, who are going to make a nuisance of themselves…"

"And so we match fire with fire, and dragon, with dragon," the woman said briskly.

"Indeed, Milady," Treize replied, not taking his eyes from Zechs.

At first, he had trouble getting any impression about it, apart from its sheer, unthinkable size.

Well, it was white.

And thank God, it was asleep.

"And you want me to control…that…" Zechs managed to ask.

"It's a simple creature.  It will submit to you by merit of your stronger will and superior intellect," the lady told him coldly.

Zechs didn't see _her volunteering to climb onto it's back and fit it with a bridle._

_Why me?_

"I chose you, Zechs," Lord Treize began, eerily answering his unspoken question, "because you are the strongest, and the best."

Zechs wasn't one to be turned by flattery.  "I don't know if I'm capable," he admitted dubiously.

"And how will you know, until you try?" Treize prompted.

Zechs took a step closer to the slumbering dragon.  What it came down to was that he hadn't had enough of life…  He wasn't willing to throw himself with complete abandon into this….

Treize put a hand on his arm as he stepped forward.  "This is your opportunity…  If you succeed, vengeance is in your grasp as it never was before."

_And if I fail…  well, he failed.  What was there to live for aside from his vendetta anyway?_

_…just promise me that I'll find you here and well when I come back, all right?   _

"The key….," Treize stated, tone sounding almost idle, "is knowing that you will succeed."

Zechs steeled himself and stepped forward once more.  He would succeed.

He had to.


End file.
